


dissimulation fund

by smcookies



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Daddy Issues, Gang AU, M/M, Superpowers, Thriller, a messy gay gang, donghyucks a lil twat whats new, i guess, its not fluff but there will b soft moments, jaehyun is fucking stupid but also trying, mark is just trying his best, supportive family of thugs, taeyongs a hot guy ...also whats new, yes. theres a gang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smcookies/pseuds/smcookies
Summary: is it better to regret the past, or fear the future?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Our first jointfic written by Austin (Ao3-jenosmoles)/Sam(Ao3-dyold)/Emily(tumblr-darth-thirst)!!  
> Please enjoy this is our baby and we love it thx

 

He stood with his hands stuffed gently into his pockets. The cold November wind disheveled the hair on his forehead, which only caused him to become even more rigid. His eyes diverted to the concrete ground which he stood on, distracting himself from the reality that was. He was scared, horrified even, but he knew he couldn't back out any longer. He had one shot- one chance- and as soon as the alarm sounded, there was no turning back.

Loitering around the entrance of the lavish city bank, then back into the streets, and then once more to where he previously paced; Mark Lee weighed his risks again, one last time.

Ten- no- _twenty_ years (at least,) locked up in a stuffy cell. Thousands of _more dollars_ he wouldn’t ever _dream_ of paying off. He would never see his mother again if he fucked this up. She would live her dying days in disappointment.

_His mother_.

He remembered how he promised her he’d get the money.

Never said how, or when. Just soon.

He pictures her disappointed face when she figures out just _how_ he managed to pay off all her medical bills, devoid of any emotion in her eyes except shame.

Swallowing down the lump of anxiety in his throat, he picks up the brick that was laid on the asphalt next to him.

Running his finger against the tiny bumps and ridges of the piece of maroon masonry, he inhales.

He takes a step forward.

_He’d take a living, resentful mother rather than a dead one, any day._

He exhales, and smashes the brick against the giant glass window. Pieces of glass splinter and cascade around him like a shower of crystals, except a few get caught in his ragged, black woolen gloves and almost slice up his fingers.

The alarm goes off immediately, blaring repeatedly into the night; and Mark knows the countdown has already started.

It’s go time, no turning back.

He quickly hopped over the door frame, soles landing on the broken glass which was strewed across the floor. He balanced himself onto his shaky feet and then bolted. He sprinted as quick as he could towards his destination. As he ran past the front desk, he quickly searched the drawers for the master key he hoped was there.

Thankfully, Mark’s father used to work in this building, and he would take Mark with him on the job some days when the boy was small. He’d show him around and everyone who worked with him knew Mark by name. It was almost a sweet afterthought, despite the circumstance that brought it back to his memory.

“ _Fuck, fuck, hurry,_ ” Mark whispered to himself urgently as he scanned through the last few drawers. There was a ring of a few keys in the second to last drawer, and he grabbed it, slamming the canister behind him and sprinting somehow faster than he had been before.

He ran sporadically, his mind only on the giant reinforced-steel vault in the back of the bank which contained all of the citizens’ life savings. As he sprinted, his sides began to hurt with exhaustion. While adrenaline raced through his veins, his fingers twitched as guilt was already seeping through his body. He knew of the long, grueling hours the residents of the town took to put the money into their savings; and here he was, making it his mission to steal it all away from them— their cash vanishing as if it was never really there to begin with.

Turning a corner, Mark’s shoes skidded across the polished floor, almost causing him to trip. Picking up speed, he could barely hear his ragged breath over the blaring of the alarms, but he sure as hell could feel the burning within his chest. There was no point in feeling guilty at this point; if he were to be apprehended before being able to lay a finger on the money, then it would be his loss entirely.

He began hearing muffled shouting and quick footsteps far behind him, but he was almost there. He knew that he couldn't stop or even slow down slightly at this point. He was panting as he ran, the dizziness slowly hitting him. He almost slammed into the door in front of him, pulling the ring of keys into his focus and rummaging through the few chips that were there. _Bingo._ He grabbed it quickly and put it in the doorknob, turning it and following with the knob. He rushed in, closing the door behind him, scrambling to lock the door once again. In the distance, the muffled yelling surfaced to Mark’s ears. His hairs stood on edge, but he fumbles into the center of the room without much trouble, eyeing his prize with a guilty feeling of triumph.

_Money. Riches._ Anticipation almost froze him still. All he needed to make his mother okay again was there, through that foreboding safe door. Unsure of what to do, he paces around in the dark. He draws closer to the password dock, cursing silently when he fails to remember any piece of the password his father might’ve let slip long ago.

Becoming frantic when the yelling from outside grows clearer and more coherent, Mark looks around in a panicked attempt at making one last shot at the door.

Right when he began to lose hope, staring up at the dark ceiling in some type of last call to God, something in front of him begins to creak like an entire mechanical puzzle being pulled apart. Mark would take some time to stand in awe, but being pressed for every second he has, he instead simply thinks nothing of it and makes a run for whatever was to be found inside. He drops to his knees in a rush, gathering all the stacks of bills he could possibly hold in his fragile arms. He felt proud in a cruel, twisted sense. He was going to be the reason his mother would be able to leave the hospital bed that entrapped her. On the flip side, he was also going to be on the cover of news articles and on television screens everywhere as soon as the police caught him- _assuming they ever did, if he was lucky-_ on account of stealing hundreds of thousands of other people’s deposits all in one night. As he stood, with his arms and pockets full of hundred-dollar bills, he heard a small but frightening clearing of the throat. Mark’s head spun around with the idea that the authorities had already caught up to him, and he was doomed. As he looked up, he realized it was all but.

A dark shadow loomed in front of him, making him flinch and drop a couple of his precious banknotes. The figure inches closer, almost carefree somehow in its gait.

It lurches forward suddenly, startling Mark to the point where he scrambles to the ground. Seemingly pleased with its act, it laughs heartily, revealing itself to sound like a young boy.

“ _You almost look like you’ve never seen this stuff before,”_ The other comments between breaths, and Mark’s eyes widen to an astounding degree, further amusing the unknown and mysterious boy. The figure effortlessly kicks at a few stacks of dollars, Mark mentally yelling a _“No- what the everloving fuck are you doing?”_ in response.

Instead, he gasps a feeble and terrified _“Wuh?”_

“It’s a shame, really.” The shadow lingers on without a worry in the world; while Mark is stuck in full-on panic mode. “You don’t seem like a bad kid. You did an awful lot to help me back there, y’know that? And right now, you’re ‘bout to do me a real big favor.”

Steps echo down the corridor at an alarming volume, but the figure trips Mark and keeps him in his place, denying him a quick exit.

“You must be wondering that pretty little head of yours off about what that big ol’ favor is.”

_Mark wasn’t wondering anything, but when he could go home. He just wanted to go home to a not-dying mother in a not-dying neighborhood where he could be very much happy and not live as a criminal for the rest of his life, locked up in a cell._

The boy who stood in front of him wasn't very tall, and from what Mark could see in the dark room, his face didn't seem to be menacing either. Despite this, there was something in his voice that made Mark shiver-  something that made him scary only in that moment. Maybe he wasn't like this all the time, Mark thought, but in that instance where the other leaned over Mark in the slightest, he was a boy’s nightmare.

“This is gonna be all on you, bud,” he practically whispered, Mark being able to hear the smirk on his face through his voice alone. “Don't look at at me like that- you’ve got this.”

The silhouette that was once before him disappeared in a blink. His eyes opened to nothing but the empty room he sat in. He gazed into the nothing that was before him. His eyes scanned the room, not noticing the door that was a couple feet away being opened. He didn't understand. Did he imagine it? Maybe the guilt really got to him. That had to be it. He didn't stop zoning out until hands were grabbing at his clothes roughly and jerking him to his feet. His arms were skillfully pressed behind his back and he felt cold metal bracelets cuff his wrists. He was sure they were talking, but in the moment his mind was cloudy and he was regretting everything all at once.

From his feet dragging against the asphalt and across the shards of glass he had previously broken— to the conference, the awkward and merciless interrogation as to why his mother couldn’t be there to collect him, and the sliding of the cold, hard, metal doors that guarded the entrance to prison; every fleeting moment up to his detainment seemed like a daze. The snapping of the iron door that separated him from the rest of the upstanding individuals of society seemed to be like the only wake-up call he had; bringing perspective to his tattered orange suit, and the bruises the cuffs left all over his pale, skinny wrists.

Sighing, he sat on his lone mattress; letting his body sink into the foam as he brushed his fingers through his dirty hair. There was an in-fight going on somewhere along the other side of the cell blocks, and the violent curses and shouting could be heard all the way from where he sat. He flinched when a large _slam_ crackled through the halls, disturbing all the other passive inmates who were trying to get their bearings in this new jungle of uncivilized living.

_So he was gonna be like one of them now, huh?_

Mark blocked out all the outside noise that echoed into his tiny bubble, and simply reflected.

_In what way did he think this stupid idea was ever going to work? On what planet?_

He could almost picture his mother sobbing as she read over the several tabloids featuring his battered face and disheveled hair on the cover; outlined by bolded and outrageous letters that spelt out _“Delinquent Boy Brutally Imprisoned after Night Robbery,”_ further perpetuating his shame. He could imagine the sadness in her words as she whispered out, “ _My boy..._ ”

He felt like he ruined everything all at once. He would no longer have the chance to even be able to work to earn the money- he obviously couldn't steal it- nor could he save his fading mother in any other way. He stood up, and let his hands run across the cold metal bars which locked him up.

The officers treated him like dirt. The other prisoners, so far, have treated him like dirt. Once he managed to get out of this place at the age of 30 or so- society would proceed to treat him like dirt.

_Apparently, life didn’t have a place for a bank-robbing lowlife delinquent like him._

He sighed.

As selfish as it sounded, he sort of wished he could have another chance; not even to prove himself right- just to stay out of trouble from then on. Imprisonment granted him the valuable life-lesson of _“Stay the fuck in your place; don’t try anything unless you want to screw up and simultaneously ruin a family’s lives._ ”

Letting his arm go limp, fingers releasing from the frigid metal poles, Mark turns around in hopes of possibly getting some shut-eye before the section guard comes in to drag him to the mess hall to choke down some _delicious_ gruel, and possibly get a black-eye or two from accidentally stumbling into someone else’s fistfight.

Wallowing in his personal woe-is-me moment, Mark almost fails to feel a familiar tightness around his head, and is shocked when he blinks his eyes back into focus to see an age-old friend grinning back at him.

_It was that bastard from the bank; the one who got him into all of this in the first place._

Warm cell lighting provided the boy with an all-new look, and Mark saw him in a slightly different perspective than before- save for his initial thoughts that still stood without a doubt.

Slightly tossed auburn hair framed his sun-kissed face in a straight-cut, bowl-like crown. He had piercing, confident eyes that didn’t match their chocolate brown color; and a full set of money-winning, toothpaste-ad teeth, plastered into a friendly smirk that was filled with mirth. Donning a dark, full-set suit; it was almost as if he wasn’t the mysterious figure that snared him in that vault that night at all, but rather a young priest on his way to to reconcile Mark of all his previous misgivings. The ring of dust and light that fell down upon him didn’t really help to outline the complete 180 between him and Mark; a clean-cut philanthropist look complete with a halo vs. a garish orange prison garb and sandy, dirt-muddled hair. Oh, how red Mark’s face must’ve turned in anger when realizing that the roles could’ve been so, so easily reversed if not for that accident the other night. He tries to imagine the boy in his prison suit- _in his place_ \- but it just seems so out of place that it eludes him.

Gripping his fist, about to perhaps smack the offending boy in his face, he tenses and then lets go. The boy quirks an eyebrow, but Mark simply sighs and sits on his bed.

“I’m hallucinating now. Great.”

The boy sniffs, rubbing his nose with his finger in feigned offense.

“ _Hallucinating_ ? Are you stupid? Did your mom drop you on your head as a baby? I thought this was gonna be something like a tearful reunion, see, and here you are- about to swing fists. _Rude._ ”

Mark covers his eyes with his palms in an attempt at rubbing the boy away from his sight; but when he looks up, vision clearing, he’s still there.

“ _Are you done yet?_ ” The other asks impatiently, toe tapping like he’s pressed for time.

Mark, in a frantic attempt on assessing his mental health, calls the cop over. He doesn’t even shout anything coherent, he just yells.

The boy is angered; stomping.

_“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing!?”_

The guard stomps over, clearly agitated at Mark’s sudden outburst- which happened to rouse the inmates around him into an equally-distressed fervor.

He asks what could _possibly_ be the matter, and when Mark points to his side and asks the cop to remove the strange boy occupying his cell; all the gruff man does is grimace, shake his head, and swear at Mark to stop screwing around before dinner.

_“Weirdass kid..._ ” the man mutters as he shuffles away, and Mark turns his head to see that the place where the boy once stood was empty.

He stared at that spot. His eyes widened with sudden fear and an overwhelming lack of sanity. Within the few seconds Mark took to wrap his head around this mess, the sun-kissed boy was back in the place he had been a few moments before. His hair was more out of place than it had been before, a leaf hanging from a tuft of hair. Without any thought, Mark takes a short step away from the other. He watched as the other followed him in his steps, holding out a hand as if to calm the other like a distressed animal. Before Mark could fight back, the boy puts his hand on Mark’s shoulder, shoving him down to sit in his stiff bed he was supplied with.

“Shut up,” he ordered, obviously a little annoyed.

Mark’s lips are sealed shut, and his palms are clammy.

_He’s really losing it, now- isn’t he?_ All he can do is stare up at the boy with wide eyes.

“Now _listen_ ,” the boy sighs, “I don’t normally do this. You should consider yourself lucky.”

He paces around the cell, and Mark’s dilated pupils follow his form in suspense.

“I’m about to crack you a deal.”

Mark’s heart almost stops pumping for a moment.

“It’s a deal so good, you won’t be able to deny.” The boy stops abruptly, hunches over to Mark’s height, and gives him an expectant smile. All the while, Mark is still occupied with just keeping himself breathing.

He managed to rasp out a question, still unsure about what was going on.

“ _What… deal…?”_

The boy grimaced and stood up tall again.

He sighed, wringed his hands; did pretty much any exaggerated act possible as he spoke.

“Oh, you won’t be able to believe it when you hear it...” he muttered with a bit of a bite, and Mark stared at him through squinted eyes.

He didn’t know how much was fake- he was still convinced most of the things going on right now were a part of some weird prison-gruel-induced hallucination- but the aura that radiated off of the other was enough to entrance him, somehow.

The other put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back only slightly.

“Listen well, peon,” he continued.

He resumed his stroll around the cell, eyeing Mark to make sure they were on the same page.

“You,” The boy snapped a finger, “You needed money that night, am I wrong?”

Mark hesitatingly shook his head.

“You went into that bank that night with the intent of _stealing_ , didn’t you?”

Mark nodded his head with a little more certainty, even working up the will to quietly mention how _he_ was the only thing that prevented him from accomplishing that.

“Yeah, well, at least I have enough goodwill in me to not smash windows.”

Mark shuts up.

All throughout the boy’s talk, Mark’s eyes fall on the other’s dusty, auburn hair. No matter what he tries to do, his mind can’t possibly parse all of the things the anomaly has previously done within the past 10 minutes.

Stretching out his legs, walking towards the other, and outstretching his hands, he takes a tuft of the other’s dark red hair and stops him in his tracks.

His thoughts are confirmed. He sits complacently back down, still in a daze.

His head still needs to buffer for a bit.

“You’re real.”

The boy sighs.

“ _Of course I’m real._ Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

Mark looks deep into his palm, and then back up at the boy.

“You’re… real.”

“Oh my _God._ Out of all the kids they had to put in prison- _”_ The boy massages his temples as he mutters, but Mark interrupts him.

“How did… you do _that…_.?”

The boy nods his head and goes along.

“The only way I’ll tell you is if you agree with my little favor.”

“Haven’t I done enough favors for you?” Mark suddenly speaks up.

And then the boy looks at him critically.

“Talkative now, aren’t you? So what I’m getting right here is that you’d rather stay here, in this smelly cell for the rest of your life.”

Mark deflates and the boy goes on.

“That’s what I thought.” He stops. “You don’t even have to do much. Just hear me out.”

Mark furrows his brows, but the boy has a surprisingly genuine look of pleading on his face.

“You want the money, right?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly and cheeks slightly red from frustration. Slowly and hesitantly, Mark nodded in response. “I can provide you with any amount you could possibly need,” he said, looking Mark dead in the eyes. “but _we_ need your help.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed softly at the word ‘we.’ The boy could see the frustration forming in his face, so he continued.

“I don't want to tell you anymore yet. I just need to know if you'll do it or not,” he finished.

Mark sat down on the uncomfortable mattress in his cell, his eyes stuck on a spot on the concrete floor. His mind ran laps around everything. He couldn't seem to process a single word correctly, it didn't seem to settle well within him. But-

“I can get all the money I need?” He asked, his eyes not losing their focus.

“And more.”

There was a moment of pure silence from the two of them. Mark knew whatever he was signing himself up for could not be good, but he would give up everything to save his mother.

“I'll do it.” His face was free of emotion as he stood up, making eye contact with the other. He was scared. He watched as the still-mysterious boy held his hand out for a definite shake. Mark sadly didn't hesitate, pushing his hand into the golden skin of the other. They shook on the deal. He can't turn back now.

“My name’s Donghyuck,” the boy in front of him said with an undertone of softness, even though his face showed none. Mark’s hand fell to his side and he nodded.

“I'm Mark.”


End file.
